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Zee + Annmarie and Tan + Jubilee. Forever. No exceptions. They were to have the picture-perfect life together. Everything was all planned out. Jubilee was to marry Eitan and Ezekiel was to marry Annmarie. That’s how it was always supposed to be from the moment that they met. Textbook, right? Wrong. Eitan and Annmarie die in a freak accident that never should have happened, leaving the two survivors reeling. Sixteen years later, Jubilee and Zee can’t even be in the same room with each other before things begin to deteriorate. Too many memories. Too much pain. Not enough forgiveness. They’re like hellfire and holy water, and neither one of them is willing to admit that they’re wrong. Then one day things change, and all of a sudden, they’re looking at each other like maybe they aren’t each other’s enemies after all. ADD TO GOODREADS

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Lani Lynn Vale is a USA Today Bestselling Author of over thirty titles. She is married with three children, two dogs, two cats, a donkey, and a couple (a couple also meaning over twenty) chickens. When she’s not writing, you can find her curled up in her favorite chair reading. Lani is married with three children and lives in the Great State of Texas. Website | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | BookBub

Oh, how I've sinned and sinned. Even my brother's pious meddling can't undo the damage I've done. As VP of the Broken Bows MC I'm content to be the devious, dark and dangerous twin.

I love to cause mayhem.

I enjoy destruction.

Truth though? I wish he was by my side. I'd do almost anything to pull him away from his flock and back to the darkness that I know resides within him.

I will do it anything.

Strike

I see their evil, their malice.

I see myself in them.

My sins.

My brother and the MC want me to return to the club, though it's not my home. It never was. The church has nurtured me, settling my demons. When an attack occurs on the club their request becomes my undoing.

They use her.

She is my desire.

Scarlet is True's though I covet her.

I've fought their pull like the taught string of the bow.

Like me, a single shot will ruin everything.

Read the novella that bridges the continuation of King to Pawn. (To be read between KING and PAWN)

Mother of two insanely (well trained) sarcastic men, wife to a dangerously smolder inducing grumble bunny (fireman), and friend to some amazing ladies (you know who you are). Thanks for reading, thanks for being a friend, and I look forward to meeting you in the future for drinks, danger and laughs.

Living in Northern Ontario, Canada, Kerri loves to read, travel and find new reasons to write you fantastic love stories. Remember, not all love is clean. Dark, light, angsty, sexually charged and twisted—that’s her genre.

It’s heart wrenching stories where the muse directs her. As the instrument of their lives, their stories are told piece by piece. You can hope for the good guy to win, but it won’t always happen. There's no guarantee of an HEA (happily ever after) or HFN (happy for now), because life doesn't always have those.

Enjoy the OMG's and tears. Tear your hair out, toss a book or two, because Kerri Ann wants for you to feel their pain too. As they live it, you absorb it on the pages.

âThe Lost Saxons are quickly becoming one of my favorite re-reads.â ~Amazon Reviewer

Rule #1 of getting life back on track: donât fall for a bikerâ¦

A new life; a new startâthat was what Liv needed after escaping her violent marriage. Moving to Kingsley was a chance to rebuild what was broken and show the world she wasnât defeated by her past. No part of that plan involved falling in love with a biker.

Dean never expected to want the sweet woman living across the street. Sheâs not his type, yet he canât stay away from her. When trouble follows Liv, heâs one step behind, ready to defend her because his time in the Lost Saxons Motorcycle Club has taught him two things: how to ride and how to protect what is his. And Liv is hisâeven if she doesnât know it yet.

Chapter Two

Present dayâ¦

I'm unloading groceries from my car when I first see him. It's the roar of the engine that draws my attention. It's so obnoxiously loud in the quiet cul-de-sac that I can't stop my eyes from gravitating towards the sound. As I do, the mid-afternoon sunlight catches the chrome pipes, momentarily blinding me before the bike moves into the shadows of the trees lining the road.

I don't know a thing about motorcycles, but I can appreciate the beauty of it. It's a beast of a machine, with an emerald green fuel tank and pearl accents. It's a bike designed to catch attention, and it does. Even if it didn't, the man riding it would. To say he's imposing is an understatement.

With fascinationâand a healthy dose of trepidationâI watch as he stops the bike in the driveway opposite my house and pulls off his helmet.

His head is covered in a thin layer of dark fuzz, which is at odds with the amount of hair covering his jaw, and every inch of skin not covered by clothes is inked. I'm more than certain his body is covered in even more artwork than I can see.

He isnât classically handsome, nor is he the type I would usually find attractive, but there is something about him. Maybe itâs the bad boy vibe, or the confidence of his movementsâI'm not sure. He's only wearing plain, boring, black jeansânothing specialâbut they do fit him perfectly. The dark denim hangs in a way that accentuates his narrow hips and his tight bum. Beneath his leather vest he has on a loose, dark sweatshirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Looking at him, itâs like he rolled up out of hell to cause mayhem. Simon could never pull off that look, not in a million years. He is a trousers and button-up shirt kind of guy.

He's also a huge bastardâone that should not be entering my head at all.

My breath catches and all thoughts of Simon vanish as the biker turns and I get a full view of the back of his vest. There are two crossed swords dripping blood onto a skull wearing a helmet. This is macabre enough, but it's finished off with a T-cross piece over the skeletal nose and red, burning coals for eyes. The words 'Lost Saxons' are arced across the top of the garment, 'Kingsley' across the bottom.

He's not just a biker, heâs a biker.

I'm not a native to Kingsley, but I also donât live under a rock; I know what the Lost Saxons Motorcycle Club is. They're well-known, even outside the former colliery town. If the newspapers are to be believed, they deal in drugs, weaponsâanything that will give them a quick payout. They're criminals, a gang of men dedicated to living outside the confines of the law, and from the looks of it, I have one of their members living across the road from me.

And he definitely lives there because he's moving up the path towards the front door with a comfortable ease that only comes from being in your own space.

The bands around my chest loosen a little as he steps inside the house, the front door banging closed behind him, and once again peace and tranquillity return.

Iâve been in Kingsley for more than a year, but Iâve only been renting this property for the past three months. Itâs the first time Iâve felt truly happy since I left Simon; the therapy, the breathing techniques, the finding something good in each part of the day is working and I finally feel as if Iâm moving forward.

But now I have a biker living on my road.

Maybe I can move somewhere elseâ¦

Except, I signed a twelve-month tenancy agreement. Why? Because this house has a good square footage, is in a quiet part of Kingsley and was a bargain.

Now, Iâm wondering if Mr Biker is the reason why the rent is so cheap.

I shake myself.

Firstly, for being so judgemental; Iâm not usually. This is because so many people have judged me over the years and usually they come to the wrong conclusion. Secondly, because in the months Iâve lived here, this is the first time Iâve seen him. Clearly, heâs not a frequent visitor to the house.

I stare at the now-closed door and sigh. Maybe I should worry about my own problems and not who is living across the street from me. But I canât help but feel concerned. I left my old life behind, reclaiming what was left of the woman I was before I met Simon. Even after all this time, Iâm still trying to work out who this version of me is, but I figure sheâs the kind of woman who would not care about the biker living across the street. I also figure she is the kind of woman who doesnât get involved in other peopleâs business unless it becomes her business.

But he is a problem and he most definitely is my business, because he lives spitting distance from my front door. I donât need the kind of trouble this man and his Club will bring. I need quiet, and I need safety. I donât need the police camped on the front lawn.

Feeling irritatedâand a little anxiousâI reach into the boot of my car, gather up my shopping bags and heave them out with a grunt. Juggling my load, I fumble for the lid of the boot and manage to get it closed without dropping anything. This is a feat in itself, given how heavy these bags are. How much did I buy?

This is something I have struggled to get used to since I set out on my own: shopping for myself. I was so used to getting whatever Simon wanted, not what I wanted or needed that I now have a tendency to overindulge when Iâm in the supermarket. I have to remember Iâm on a budget and that I canât afford a hundred pounds a week food bill. But the freedom to do as I please goes to my head more often than I would care to admitâeven after all this time.

I barely take two steps before I feel something shift. Then, the weight of the bags changes as the plastic splits from handle to seam. Laden down as I am, I can do nothing but watch in seemingly slow motion as my milk carton hits the concrete at force, spraying white into the air like a geyser while the rest of the contents spill out onto the pavement, my apples rolling to settle in the gutter.

Well, shit.

I move to my car and carefully place the other bags in the boot before turning back to the carnage I have wrought. A white river of milk is free-flowing across the paving slabs and staining the grassy verge.

Shit, shit, shit.

I move to pick up the first fallen itemâa ruffled looking lettuceâwhen a deep, gravelly voice says, "Do you need a hand?"

I jump practically out of my skin; I can't help it. Itâs not a normal response and I know this, but I can't stop it. My flight response battles with my fight for dominance as I spin around. And my body, which has been conditioned to react over the years, tries to recoil. It takes everything I have to stand still as I let out a garbled yelp.

"Jesus!" I gasp out as I realise the voice belongs to my neighbour from across the street: the biker.

For a moment a tendril of fear works through me, but it winds back a notch when he doesnât make any sudden movements. I put a hand to my sternum, trying to control my thrumming heartbeat, then drag in a shuddering breath as my counsellorâs voice sounds in the back of my mind: I am in control; I can keep myself safe.

And I can. I have been doing it for months now quite successfully.

For his part, Mr Biker looks contrite and slightly concerned, as if worried I may keel over. It is a possibility, given how much of a workout my respiratory system is getting, courtesy of him.

"You nearly gave me a coronary,â I snap, which is probably not the best idea, given the present company, but shock makes my mouth engage before my brain.

"Fuck," he mutters, as a tattooed hand runs over his buzzed head. My eyes of their own volition follow the movement and I have to drag my gaze back to his face. "I didn't mean to scare you."

âItâs okay,â I mutter.

This close up, I can see his eyes are pale, a blue so light it looks grey. Heâs also wearing a ring through his left nostril that I shouldnât like, but find I do. I donât usually like piercings, nor do I like tattoos, but he pulls both off perfectly. Too perfectly, really. Heâs nothing like Simon who was more at home in a suit rather than jeans and never left the house without ensuring his hair was perfectly styled. I doubt this man cares about that kind of thing; heâs dressed for comfort. Heâs rough, hard, but there is something about him that I likeâand I donât even want to dissect that.

Boy, do I have bad taste in men? First Simon, now Iâm lusting over a criminal. I should become celibate and join a nunnery.

But he is good looking, even under the bad boy appearance.

âDo you have another bag?â

âWhat?â I pull my attention from scanning the thick scruff of beard covering his jaw. Itâs verging on wild and this close to me, I can see it has copper-flecks among the brown.

âA bag: do you have another? To put the food in,â he clarifies, speaking slowly, as if Iâm not with itâwhich Iâm not. Iâm rattled having him in my space, and not just because my hormones are standing to attention. The man belongs to one of the most notorious biker gangs in the country, and heâs also at least five inches taller than I am. Heâs bulky, in an athletic way, rather than a steroid way, but that means nothing; Simon wasnât built but he could still overpower me. That in itself is enough to make me wary, although I do everything not to show it.

Heâs not going to hurt you.

Breathe it out, Olivia.

âOh. Yeah.â I move back to the car and find a spare shopping tote tucked away. When I turn back to the biker and hand him the bag I do it with a lot more confidence than I feel.

He takes it without a word, opening it up and gestures for me to hold it for him. I do so without question. Why? I don't know. I should run into my house and hide because this man is dangerous. His leather vest with the skull on the back, the tattoos, the swagger: everything about him exudes just how dangerous he is. Except, he's standing on my driveway, helping me to collect the remains of my scattered shopping.

Are bikers supposed to be helpful?

I stand silently as he puts each item into the open tote bag, unsure what to say.

âYour milk is fucked,â he tells me unnecessarily because I can see that, âbut the rest should be salvageable.â

I stare at the river of white wending over the concrete. This means another trip to the supermarket, unless I can survive with black coffee for tonight.

âCrap,â I whisper.

He runs a hand over his beard, and I notice his tattoos span down his arms to the backs of his hands as well. His skin is covered with so many different designs that itâs difficult to take it all in, but I see he has the same insignia on the back of his leather vest tattooed on his left forearm. On his right wrist, just above the palm, the word âKarmaâ is stamped. I donât even want to think why he has that tattoo. What karma is he dealing out?

Realising Iâm staringâagainâI pull my gaze back to his face, but he doesnât notice my gawking because heâs focused on the milk spillage.

âItâs only milk,â I say. âNo use crying over it, right?â

Then his lips quirk and I forget heâs a dangerous criminal because my mouth is suddenly dry. It softens his entire demeanour and I suddenly want to see him smile every day.

âI guess not. I have some in the house, if you need it.â

I wonder when he was here to bring milk; this is definitely the first time Iâve seen signs of life at the house across the street.

âDo you want me to grab you some?â he continues.

As tempting as that is, I shake my head. âI think Iâll survive one evening without milk, but thank you.â

This is debatable but Iâm not keen on being indebted to this manâeven if it is only milk. Itâs a ridiculous thought but my brain is completely frazzled right now. At least this is the excuse Iâm giving myself.

He hands me the newly filled bag and I take it with murmured thanks, trying not to react as his fingers brush over the back of my hand. I canât deny the way that feels. There is electricity between usâat least on my part, although I swear I see a slight widening of his eyes at our touch. Perhaps I imagined it because itâs gone so fast I canât be sure it was there in the first place.

He sniffs then clears his throat and my cardiac muscle gets another workout as it beats faster.

âYou just moved in?â

âOh, yeah. Well, about three months ago.â

He blinks and then his brow pulls together. âShit, really? Three months?â

I nod.

âI need to start coming to the house more.â He jerks a thumb in the direction of the property he disappeared into before. âI own number fifteen, but I spend most of my time at the clubhouse.â

The clubhouse. With the dangerous bikers where he is a member. This sobers me completely and brings me out of my fantasy. It doesnât matter how nice heâs being, how polite, I need to bring this to an end. I do not need his kind of drama in my already drama-filled life.

âThank you for your help, but I should get the food inside before it spoils.â

He studies me. Intently. I try not to squirm under that look. âIâll help.â

âOh, thereâs no need.â

âIâll help,â he repeats, as if I didnât protest.

This annoys me, but I donât have the chance to voice this because without invitation, he plucks the tote from my hands and reaches into the boot. He wraps a fist around the whole lot and pulls it out as if it weighs nothing, and without a word starts up the path to the front door.

Myfront door.

Crap!

I quickly reach for the boot, pulling the lid down and tug my handbag up my shoulder as I jog after him. His legs are longer than mine though and he eats up the space in a few steps. This means heâs waiting for me outside the porch when I reach him.

He lifts the bags slightly. âThese are heavy, darlinâ; do you want to open the door, so I can put them inside?â

I really donât. Itâs one thing him carrying my bags from the car to my front door, but him being inside my house... Iâm not sure Iâm comfortable with that at all. But I donât want to be rude and I donât want to upset the potentially dangerous biker with the cute face and overinflated sense of chivalry either.

I hesitate too long because his smile fades and his jaw tightens. I see the anger flash in his eyes as he realises why Iâm hesitating. Muscle memory is a powerful thing because my brain doesnât register itâs not Simon; all it registers is the perceived danger. To my mortification, I recoil back as if he struck me. My life with Simon may feel like a decade ago, but that primal instinct to protect myself is still the first thing to switch on when I meet someone newâsomeone I donât yet know is safe.

His eyes narrow further. Itâs like watching a train wreck in slow motion, and I can do nothing to stop the destruction.

There is a moment of silence that seems to span an era. Itâs so quiet all I can hear is my own ragged breathing and his huffing.

Finally, he speaks.

âChrist, you try to fucking help someone and this is how they thank you?â He grinds the words between clenched teeth. Then he snorts and shakes his head. Not too gently, he dumps the bags on the ground and leans into me. I pull away from him, my back hitting the side of the storm porch as he gets into my space, all six-foot-plus of him. I have to raise my chin to meet his gaze, and I wish I didnât because he looks hurt beneath the anger and for some reason that doesnât sit right with me.

âFor the record, I was just going to take your bags inside for you. I usually leave the raping and murdering for the weekend.â

He gives me the dirtiest look Iâve ever seen, turns on a booted heel and starts back up the path. I let my lungs finally reboot and draw in air when he reaches the end of the drive, and Iâm filled with a new emotion. This one is abject embarrassment. He didnât do anything wrong. All he did was try to be nice and I treated him like crap. Did I really think he was going to come into my house and hurt me?

I donât know.

Old habits die hard.

Shit.

Jessica Ames was raised in a small market town in the Midlands, England. She lives with her crazy mongrel terrier and when sheâs not writing sheâs playing with crochet hooks. From the moment she was old enough to hold a pen she created fantastical stories and by the age of 17 had written her first full-length novel: a fantasy story about an exiled boy king. It was a cliched mess, but she realised she could, in fact, write and finish a book!

Knowing she needed to make money, she found work in the publishing world. Over the next decade, she honed her skills and worked hard to learn everything she could about writing. In January 2018, in a moment of insanity, she quit her job in magazine publishing to write books full time.

As a young boy, Gabriel Martinez had his family-his entire life ripped away from him.

Revenge and indignation becomes his means of survival.

Several years later, a series of events lead him to his new family, The Kings of Retribution MC, where he meets Alba Jameson.

Heartbreak being the final push, Alba chooses the life her sister worked so hard to give her by going off to college.

While trying to bury her feelings for Gabriel, she finds herself faced with the unexpected. Finding strength and courage she starts to pave her own path in life, until a faceless threat sends her home.

We are sisters who both share a passion for books. Our obsession for bad boys, alpha males, angst, romance, hot, sexy, and happily ever after has lead us on a journey, a dream to not only read all the incredible stories we love so much, but to write one of our own.

Both born in Illinois, then moved to Wyoming, were we spent part of our childhood before moving to Mississippi.

Crystal lives in Pearl Mississippi with her husband of twenty-one years, two sons and their two dogs.

Sandy lives in Brandon Mississippi with her husband of eleven years, and four kids.

“I’m not leaving your side, Memphis. You are my home, Angel, so wherever you are, is where I want to be.”

CREED

Creed Stephens lost his heart when his wife died in an accident that also took the life of his unborn child. He threw himself into his job as a trained sniper, no longer caring about anything other than his team. After one disastrous mission, which left him broken and battered, he entered the real world again. Creed lived only for his club and his position as its road captain. Love was something Creed never wanted to feel again. He knew loss and drowned in it every single day—at least, that was until a brown-haired, sweet, and stubborn goddess insisted on reminding him that loss wasn’t a reason to stop living.

MEMPHIS

Memphis Van Elsen had experienced far too much loss in her young life. She lost her parents, her sister, and her sight. The one person she had left was the only person she loved, the only person she wanted. But how could she compete with a ghost? Did she want to? All she knew was that the deep, aching love she felt for her former brother-in-law made her wish for things she shouldn’t. When a chain of events forced them together, would Memphis be able to make Creed see she can be the one for him, the one to make him smile again? Or would Rogue rip her heart’s desire away from her before she ever got the chance?

Review:
​I don’t even know how to write this review… His Angel, which seems to be the final book in the Wound Souls MC Series, was a rip your heart out and make you curl up in the fetal position and cry book. OMG! I really don’t know how to rate it.

I loved the romance between Creed and Memphis. There are some cringe-worthy aspects for Memphis, but it all gets ironed out fairly quickly. I loved how Creed never downplayed his love and devotion to his first wife, Lila Rose, while you still feel an equal love and devotion to Memphis. It’s a different love but just as powerful. I didn’t feel like she was getting the shaft.

It was everything else that I’m not so sure about… I’m not going to go into detail, but all I can say is… Darth. I did not agree with that, and probably wouldn’t have read the book had I known.

It was well-written and the ending tied up in a nice little bow. I felt a little depressed after reading it, but overall if you like an emotional novel with a little angst? It’s a good read.

4 Stars

I love the idea of being in love. Since my early teens when I first discovered Silhouette Desire novels my life has been all about reading. I would find myself re-writing scenes if I wasn't happy with them and hiding them under my bed. That led me to writing love stories of my own. They all ended up under the bed and are still there, and there they will stay. I don't do angst, in fact it drives me crazy.

I am a mum of three beautiful girls, Australian, and have what most say is a weird sense of humor.I spend my free time doing movie, Sons of Anarchy, and Friends marathons. And reading.I love Pina Colada's and getting caught in the rain..... there's that weird humor.

“Keeps getting better” - Little Shop of Readers “Wow! KE Osborn has once again delivered the goods.” - Kay’s Blushing Book Reviews “This book is an amazing follow up to Resistance and Penance books 1 and 2 of the Chicago Defiance MC Series.” - Goodreads Review

Australian author K E Osborn was born and raised in Adelaide, South Australia. With a background in graphic design and a flair for all things creative, she felt compelled to write the story brewing in her mind.

Writing gives her life purpose. It makes her feel, laugh, cry and get completely enveloped in the characters and their story lines. She feels completely at home when writing and wouldn’t consider doing anything else.

Axl has it all as the VP of the MC he loves in Reno, Nevada. Living a life free of worries has never been an issue for him. He’s partied and lived fast with the best of them. He’s never truly had to deal with the repercussions of his actions. Until his world is shattered right before his eyes…

Dana has always been the heart of her girls and family. If her past has taught her anything, it’s that, eventually, those you love will always leave you. Can she have faith that, even though mistakes are made and people change, love will bring them back to her?

Nothing in life lasts forever, but forever in love is just what they might get.

Scarlett Black lives in a small town in Northern Nevada. She has three kids a husband and a couple of dogs. She loves to watch baseball, especially when her kids or husband play. One day she had random thoughts floating around in her brain, opened her laptop and started writing without really knowing of where the journey would take her. Here she is now, a first-time erotic MC genre author, that works full time. She enjoys her busy life, the outdoors and shopping as much as possible!

It was completely unexpected. I’d never imagined he would come into my life. From the moment I met him, I knew there was no going back. He made me feel things I had never experienced before:

Safety

Love

Happiness

I was floating on air. Nothing could touch me with him by my side. He became my everything.

Smiley

I’d never expected my life to change upon walking into the Devil Souls MC. At first glance, I almost fell on my ass, and I knew I had to have her. She was everything I never knew I wanted, and hell if that didn’t stir something in me. Adeline gave me something I had been missing my whole life:

Passion

Desire

Contentment

I’m the retired president of the Grim Sinners MC but, in the end, you never really leave. The Devil Souls and The Grim Sinners clashed and were brought together to fight the biggest battle yet.

We had to protect our families at any cost.

LeAnn Ashers is a blogger-turned-author who spends her days reading and writing. She released her debut novel early 2016, and can't wait to see where this adventure continues to take her. LeAnn enjoys writing about strong-minded females and swoon-worthy, protective alpha males who love their women unconditionally.

Linc has two very important things on his mind—professional football and his motorcycle club.

What he does not have on his mind is the woman that drives him crazy and makes him want to do stupid things, like throw caution to the wind.

Nope, not Linc.

At least, that’s the lie he tells everyone.

In reality, every time Conleigh’s name is mentioned, he squirms.

She’s everything that he wants, wrapped up in a cute little package that is stamped ‘hands freakin’ off.’

She’s four years younger than him, in school to be a doctor, and thinks football is stupid.

Even more, Linc and Conleigh get along like oil and water.

There’s not a single second that they’re in each other’s presence that they’re not at each other’s throats.

But all it takes is hearing that she’s in trouble for Linc to drop every single thing—football and MC duties alike—and head to her side.

A side that he’ll remain at until they either kill each other, or finally give into the heat between them.

Either way you look at it, he’s well and truly screwed.

Review:
​OMG! Lani Lynn Vale just keeps getting better!

Talkin’ Trash was ah-mazing! I loved the pairing of Lincoln and Conleigh! We first met them in both of their parents’ books when they were just teenagers, and now we get to see where they are and what they’ve become (with cameos). No surprise that Linc made it to the pros and that Connleigh finally figured things out when Steel Cross entered the picture, and her home life became more stable. This story spans from their younger years with glimpses into the past and then to the present day when the time is finally right for them to be together.

I really enjoyed their absolute devotion to one another. They do have some bumps along the way, but their love is something that never changes. I also enjoyed meeting the members of the Bear Bottom Guardians and look forward to more books featuring them!

Reading an LLV book is like coming home. I don’t know how she keeps each book fresh and different yet we still get the same small-town, hometown feel. Each character feels like a real person—someone I would know and be friends with. So if you are a fan of books that are sexy and action-packed with a dose of humor I recommend this series!

5 Stars!

I’m a married mother of three. My kids are all under 9, so I can assure you that they are a handful. I’ve been with my paramedic husband now for ten years, and we’ve produced three offspring that are nothing like us. I live in the greatest state in the world, Texas.

A member of the Night Rebels MC, Army is an arrogant, tough, SOB, and he makes no bones about it. His idea of having a good time is riding his Harley, boozing with his brothers, and having rowdy sex whenever the mood strikes him—which is often. Hook ups are on his terms, and if a woman doesn’t like it, there’s always another one waiting to take her place.

Then he sees her fighting in the rink, moving in ways that give him a whole bunch of nasty ideas about what he wants to do to her. And the way she looks at him? Well … there’s no denying the intense, mutual attraction. Chemistry sparks between them like the Fourth of July.The only problem? She says she’s not interested. What the …?Stiletto’s attraction to the rugged biker is like a storm electrifying the air, but with his swagger and perpetual smirk, he’s a poster boy for shattering hearts. If only her body would understand that.Then she finds out he’s a member of the Night Rebels Motorcycle Club and is a deadly rival of her brother’s MC—The Satan’s Pistons.But one night with him wouldn’t hurt anyone.It’d just be a hook up, and probably the best sex she’d ever had.Besides, who would ever know?Then a series of tragic events lead the star-crossed lovers down a dangerous and dark path, forcing Stiletto and Army to make the hardest choices of their lives.The Night Rebels MC series are standalone romance novels. This is Army’s story. This book contains violence, abuse, strong language, and steamy/graphic sexual scenes. It describes the life and actions of an outlaw motorcycle club. HEA. No cliffhangers. The book is intended for readers over the age of 18.

Aren’t you cold?”Mia jumped at the sound of the deep voice—she didn’t hear anyone come out. She pushed away from the wall and let her gaze fall on Army. The yellow glow of the streetlights made his features soft against the darkness of the night. She ran her hands up and down her pebbled skin. “I am. I was just going to head back inside.”He stood in front of her, blocking her. “Stay for a few minutes.” He shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders before she could protest. The heat from his body felt absurdly intimate, and she was extremely aware of his fingers brushing the back of her neck. He smelled of leather and caramelized dark coffee beans with a tang of salty herbs to it, and it was the most sensual aroma she’d ever come across. It wrapped around her, and much to her chagrin, desire rippled through her. “Thanks,” she croaked, her throat dry with tension.“We never really met each other. I’m Army.”“Mia,” she said softly. He still stood close behind her.“That’s a pretty name,” his breath whispered over the curve of her neck, threatening to ensnare her.Without thinking, she leaned back into him, and he ran a thumb along her jaw as his calloused skin scratched her lightly. “I couldn’t keep my eyes off of you during the fight. You were amazing.” His breath was warm on her cheek and her inner thighs clenched in reaction.Army cupped Mia’s chin and tilted her head back so she gazed into his desire-filled eyes. Her lips parted when he dipped his head down as his grip tightened on her chin.Her brain screamed at her to stop, but her traitorous body relaxed in his powerful arms. Danger radiated from him, but it only heightened her excitement.“Mia,” he said, his low voice a mixture of sensual and gruff masculinity.Her stomach fluttered as she closed her eyes in anticipation of his kiss.

Chiah Wilder is the author of the successful Insurgents MC series.

Chiah's love of bad boys has inspired her Insurgents series. She loves an alpha male whose softer side is brought out by a passionate, spirited woman. Steamy, biker romances with rough, sexy bad boys are her guilty pleasure along with brownies, cheddar cheese, and movie marathons. She is busy writing her next book in the series. Chiah would love to hear from you. You can contact her at: chiahwilder@gmail.com Visit her on facebook: https://www.facebook.com/AuthorChiahWilder/ Join the Chiah Wilder Newsletter to get the scoop on new releases, previews, free short stories, and a whole lot of other exciting goodies: http://eepurl.com/bACCL1 Happy Reading!